Page 25 of Soul to Possess

“I don’t know how well that’s gonna work, little girl,” he said, voice velvet-wrapped and dangerous. “You’re in my house. If I want to find you—” his gaze dragged over me like a slow burn, “—I’ll find you.”

I swallowed hard.

“Like I said,” he went on, “you’re welcome in my room. Just not to go snooping. You’ve got a question? Ask me. Don’t go digging through my things looking for answers. That’s not how you build trust.”

“I’m nottryingto build trust,” I snapped. “I’m trying to survive a few weeks in a strange house with a strange man so I can get back to theman I’m actually going to marry.”

The words stung more than I meant them to. I shoved a chunk of potato into my mouth like it would soften the bite of my own voice. It didn’t. I almost choked from chewing too hard.

Atticus leaned back in his chair, completely unaffected. “You can yell at me all you want,” he drawled. “But I don’t intend to stay a stranger. And you’re not leaving here to marry anyone.”

He gestured lazily in my direction. “In fact, a piece of free advice for you: I fully intend for you not to leave at all.”

My fork clattered against the edge of my bowl. I could feel my jaw tightening again.

“You’re liable to chew straight through your lip if you keep grinding like that,” he added casually.

“I didn’taskyou,” I spat.

“Nope. That’s why it was free advice.”

“I didn’taskfor free advice either.”

“Exactly,” he said with a grin. “That’s why it wasfree.”

God, he was infuriating.

“You can say I’m staying all you want. Doesn’t make it true. In a few weeks, when the snow melts, I’m leaving. And I’m going back to Marvin. There’snothingyou can do to stop me.”

And if you refuse? I’ll take your damn truck and go without you.The thought curled behind my teeth like a secret victory. But the moment I finished speaking, his expression changed. That grin—the one that always looked a little toowolfish—spread wider, like I’d just said somethingveryamusing to him.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop you?” he repeated slowly, savoring every syllable. “How sure are you of that, little girl?” His tone darkened. Smooth as honey. Thick with implication. And I realized too late: I’d just walked right into his game. Much like a fly responds to honey. I was trapped.

“Positive,” I said, injecting more confidence into my voice than I actually had. But the truth twisted low in my gut. If he didn’t want to take me, there was nothing I could do. Not really. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t have a phone. And the roads weren’t drivable yet.Hewas the only way out.

And somehow… that made something flutter beneath my skin. It was wrong. All of this was wrong. But the hint of danger, the sharp edge of the unknown—it tugged at something buried so deep inside me I hadn’t even known it was there. This man was pure sin. All muscle and shadows and carefully measured menace. And the thought of touching him—of running my fingers along those thick, powerful thighs—sent a rush of heat straight through me.

No.

My thoughts were spiraling again, too fast and far too dark. I didn’t evenknowthis man. I’d spent the last twenty-four hours questioning whether he was a serial killer—and now here I was, picturing things I shouldn't be picturing. Imagining myself kneeling at his feet like some broken little puppet, mouth open, waiting for—Stop it.

I clenched my jaw, furious with myself.Get it together, Gennie.He’s probably an axe murderer. He lives alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no livestock, no real reason to be this far off-grid. He makes “art,” whatever that means. And you’re sitting here making googly eyes like a fool with a death wish. No.This wasn’t attraction. This wasStockholm-adjacent survival confusion.

I finished my dinner with as much dignity as I could muster, even though I could feel his eyes on me the entire time—those piercing, too-green eyes that made my skin feel tight. Once I’d set down my spoon, he stood, casually collecting the dishes and taking them to the sink.

Then he looked over his shoulder. “Come on.”

I blinked. “Come onfor what?”

I didn’t know what I thought he meant—just that whatever it was, I wasn’t about to follow him blindly into anything.

He smirked. “To talk. If we’re going to be here together, might be smart to have a conversation or two.”

He dropped into a huge leather chair like it was the throne he ruled from, and I… hesitated.

But I followed. Because I had to. Because I needed more information. More context. Morecontrol.I sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to relax too much.

“So?” I asked. “What’s the topic of conversation?”

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